


Proposals

by AceQueenKing



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 08:18:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6510223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/pseuds/AceQueenKing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Donnel Udina tries to be a good politician, but some situations try his patience.</p><p>Shepard. The Council. Volus' eating habits on dinner dates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proposals

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MundaneChampagne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MundaneChampagne/gifts).



Udina hated fundraising.

"Ksssh. Hello Earth-Clan."

Udina scowled. The Volus agent put his rubbed his tiny gloved hands together, his pleasure at having won the prize of an hour of Udina's time clearly a high point in his petty little life.

"Let's get on with this," Udina muttered. He flipped up the menu—of course the Volus hadn't chosen a cheap hole for his exclusive hour, but rather one of the most expensive places on the Sunset Strip.

"Kssssh." The Volus folded his arms into a small little pout. "Kssssh."

Udina bit his lower lip. That infuriating noise was going to be the death of him, he just knew it.

"Are you ready to order?" The waitress—human, and, thankfully, still bubbly and young—chirruped.

"I'll have _tkssshhh_ —the _Mal'Ve du Ammonia_ , please." The Volus handed over the menu, and Udina bit back a short bark of laughter at how much she had to bend over to reach his menu.

It was like eating with a child.

"Steak, rare. And a whiskey sour, please."

On Earth, he would never have dreamed of drinking while meeting with his constituents. On the Citadel, he'd done whatever he needed to as a coping mechanism.

"An unusual — _kssshhh_ —choice, Earth clan." The Volus said. “For a working lunch.”

“I plan on working through my my dinner.” Now the Volus was going to lecture him on his _own_ health standards? No. He was not going to listen to that.

“What did you want to meet with me about, today?” His mouth twitched. “Usually the people who donate to my campaign are those who...stand to benefit from it.”

In other words, humans.

“I've come to discuss a — _kssshhh_ — proposal for you, Earth-clan.” The volus stared up at him. Udina stared back.

“What sort of proposal?” Udina leaned forward. Generally when Volus mentioned “a proposal” it usually meant dollar signs.

“An — _kssshhh_ — information exchange.” The Volus glanced around them. “Surely, you know who I am?”

Udina surreptitiously glanced at the meeting on his omni's schedule. “You're Mr. Von, of Tar'Bad colony.”

“That is — _kssshhh_ —correct.” The Volus jabbed at the air. “But I am much more than that. _Kssshhh_.”  
  
“You're a volus, you – “

“Your steak!” The waitress bubbled in, her heels click clacking across the floor as she put the phone down on the table.

“Thank you,” he said, before turning back to Barla Von. But Barla Von put his hand up to his lips, or at least what Udina assumed a Volus' lips would be, had he been able to see through the suit. The oddness of the human facial expression looked absurd on a Volus, and left him too dumbstruck to continue his chain of thought.

“We must be— _kssshhh_ — be discrete, Earth-clan.”

“Of course,” Udina said, hiding his seething by digging into his steak.

“And your _Mal'Ve du Ammonia,_ ” the Waitress said, handing Barla Von what looked more like a juice box than any sort of Volus delicacy.

“Thank — _kssshhh_ — you.” Barla Von pulled out what appeared to be a straw from...somewhere, poked it through the box, and pressed a button on the side. Udina tried not to gag as Barla Von's sounds went from — _kssshhh_ — to — _slurp_ —.

“Now — _ksssssshhhh_ —, As I was — _slurrrrrrrrppp_ — saying – I am a –- _ksssssshhhht_ — business man, dealing in information. And I — _slurrrrrrrrrrrrp_ —am a representative of someone who –- _kssshhttttttt_ —understands — _slurrrrrrrrrrp_ —“

Udina rubbed his temples. “Get to the point.”

“—information, and would be— _sluuuuuuuurrrrrrrp—_  willing to — _ksssshhhhht—_  negotiate a fair — _kssssshhhhhtttt—_ ”

Udina put his arm down and pulled out his omni, typing out the familiar command even as he faked interest, leaning forward.

“Exchange – _kssssshhhhhhhhht_ – of information – _slurrrrrrrrrp—_ ”

His omni lit up, the fake-call alarm glaringly loud.

“Oh, hello?” Udina tapped his earpiece. The Volus looked up, startled, but not startled enough to stop drinking his ...meal. Slurrrrrrrrrrp. “George, you know I'm busy, I – An Emergency?”

He turned toward Barla Von. “I'm sorry, there's an emergency in my office. I have to go.”

“But Earth-clan— _ksssssssssssssssshtt_ —we haven't discussed— “

“Another time, I'm sure, I'm sure,” Udina lied, pressing his coat downwards and tossing a few credits for the waitress. He hadn't even had a chance to eat half of that steak. “You can call my secretary to reschedule, I'm sure she'll find the time.”

“Earth— _kssssssssssssssssssssht—_ clan – “

“So sorry!” He said, waving goodbye. As a politician, he kept the smile on his face until he walked through the door of the restaurant.

\- - -

He walked most of the way back toward his office on the Citadel – Aliens, he knew, were nothing if not suspicious – and didn't stop until he reached a bar in the Council building. Thank heavens for Valern's love of fine Salarian moss-whiskey.

“Rough day?” One of his new patrons – Udina filed through his mental rolodex – glanced toward him. Harper, yes, that was it – he remembered because of the eyes; cybernetic implants from the war. What you would expect, he supposed, in the background of someone who had as much money as Harper seemed to like to push around.

“You could say that. I just spent an evening with a Volus.” Udina shook his head. “I think I'll have that wretched breathing in my head for hours.”

“Hm.” Harper's mouth quirked into a smile. “Let me buy you a whiskey.”

For once, Udina didn't argue.

Humans were better for that sort of thing, he thought, as he threw back a pure single-malt whiskey. Harper no doubt wanted something out of him, but at least he bought him a drink first.


End file.
